


Story in a Drawer

by Blargnaught



Category: Doom (2005), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Reaper McCoy, old!fic, reflection fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blargnaught/pseuds/Blargnaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a drawer in Bones' desk that he always keeps locked...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Story in a Drawer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this drabble in 2009 as part of a larger drabble series I was working on. It has sat abandoned on my LJ for all these years, but I was fond of it and the recent Star Trek movie made me think of it again. So, I hunted it down, did a little editing and decided to post it here. Hopefully this will breath a little life into it.

In the top right drawer of his desk on the _Enterprise _Bones keeps the reminders of things he does not want to forget. It is always kept locked and the only key is a fingerprint scanner set to Bones and Bones alone. To anyone else it would probably just look like a junk drawer, because the contents are personal-- a well gnawed, plastic teething ring sits proudly on top toward the front and a heavy golden ring, a man's wedding band, is carefully placed just to the left of it. Underneath both of them there is an old-fashioned letter, folded carefully into thirds. At one time it had been held shut by a paper seal, the broken remnants of which are curling with age. SWAK is written across the top fold in curvy, carefully penned handwriting. If it were opened and read, some of the content would make Jim Kirk proud. It is dated fourteen Earth years prior and still smells slightly of lilac perfume.__

__Further back, curled like a sleeping snake, there is a worn stethoscope, also old-fashioned, alongside a newer, but still dated tricorder and a pocket spiral notebook filled with cramped, spidery handwriting--line after line of neat, precise notes and tiny diagrams on yellowing, lined paper. There are a few other odds and ends--a handheld PADD, turned off, pressed up against the side, a long, white feather, some string and a needle, a woman‘s comb. There are even various pieces of coinage from around the world, before the computerization of money._ _

__A little further back still, carefully shoved almost to the back of the drawer, there is a box. It is nothing special, just six piece of sloppily sanded wood nailed together and held shut with a plain silver clasp, and if you pick it up and open it, despite its weight, you will find nothing but six sets of old-fashioned dog-tags. Next to it, tucked carefully into the corner so as not to be immediately noticed, are two worn, faded old photographs---one of a group of seven men, four lounging in casual grey t-shirts and black sweat pants on what can only be barrack cots, one, expression unamused, in a black t-shirt with a duffel slung across his back, and two others, laughing in the corner, wearing uniforms. Each of them is smiling at the camera in his own way, even, Bones knows, the one in black._ _

__The other photo is of an older blond woman, somewhere in her early forties, seated primly in a wheelchair with her hands folded in her lap. She is smiling. The dark haired man standing beside her with his hand on her shoulder, one of the uniformed marines from the other photo, is not. He doesn’t look any older than his late twenties._ _

__Inside this drawer are all of his other lives. It is like a diary of sorts, but not one that anyone but he can read. Before, everything was stored in a small duffel bag under his bed, and before that, locked away in a safe-deposit box in some backwater Georgian bank. He knows that it is stupid and sentimental to carry around so much accumulated junk...illogical, Spock would say…but for him, they are reminders…reminders of everything he has ever done wrong, because John Grimm is not a man who makes the same mistake twice, and neither is Leonard McCoy._ _


End file.
